“Nothing’s the matter, child, they’re warm! My feet haven’t been warm in years. Here. Help me get these socks off. I’ve lived in these cussed socks since I was a teenager.”

Mrs. Stimson sat up and pulled off the socks, massaging her feet. They were pink, the gnarled toes flexible. “Oh, my. My, my, my.”

“Well, I think my dinner’s here now. Is it okay if I come to visit you tomorrow, while my baby’s in surgery?”

“Okay? Hell, yes. You come on by here tomorrow, and see if I’m still here. I just might check out of this hellhole tonight!”

Fern walked to the door and opened it. She took a last look back at Mrs. Stimson, who was rubbing her feet, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. She slipped out quietly.

11

CHAPTER 11

Leslie was in jail. He woke up on that hard, piss-stained mattress with a hangover that would bust the balls off a gorilla. Sonofabitch! He sat up, cradling his head in his hands, but the motion was too much. He lunged for the seatless toilet and just made it, puking and heaving until there was nothing left to come up. He sank to the floor, resting first his cheek, then his forehead against the cool porcelain. What a day. What a pisser.

He crawled back to the mattress, each loud ringing sound reverberating around the inside of his cranium. Why are jails so goddamned loud? He put his hands over his ears and faced the wall. Bright, too. No consideration, no respect.

He drifted off.

He awoke to the clanging of his cell door, and two guards handcuffed him and took him to see the judge. That didn’t take long. Drunk and disorderly, one count. Armed robbery, one count. Not guilty, your honor. Bail, five hundred dollars. An attorney will be appointed. Back to the cell.

He was alone and miserable. Armed robbery, what the hell were they talking about? Then the memory of the night before rose through the murky depths of his drugged consciousness. Shootin’ his mouth off again in Mike’s. Goddamn that Ned. Squealer. Musta been him. Who else was sittin’ at their table? Priscilla. Cunt. What’s Ned see in her? Somebody else was there, somebody with big tits and a nice tight ass. Oh, Lord, he couldn’t even remember her name. Anyway, somebody ratted on him.

He remembered the job, all right. What a score. They were asking for it, in that big fancy house on the hill. What the hell did they expect? Easy, too. Just walked right in. Kitchen door was unlocked. He got no cash, didn’t want to go upstairs, but he scored a great hunting knife, lots of silver stuff that he sold for a good price over in Joliet. Good price. Shit. That jack ripped him blind. Always did.